Laura frowned. “What aid can a nine-year-old girl give?”
“No aid.” This from Lady Sebille whose appearance made Laura startle and the knight stiffen. “Indeed, she will cause my brother more work.” She raised her eyebrows. “But unlike her mother, she expressed an interest in the barony’s greatest source of revenue, and since Lexeter is to be her home until she weds, my brother did not discourage her.”
Concern for Clarice diluted by shame over her avoidance of Lothaire that closed her mouth against questioning the work that rarely saw him returned ere sunset, Laura said to the one whose presence was almost as rare as her brother’s, “I appreciate Baron Soames’s consideration and sacrifice, and I agree it is a burden he ought not carry.” She looked to the knight. “Once more I require your escort, Sir Angus. I shall collect my daughter.”
He inclined his head. “My lord said that if you insisted, I should do as bid.”
“I insist.”
“As would I if not for tidings from Wiltford,” Lothaire’s sister said and raised a parchment whose upper edge bore the remnant of a wax seal.
Laura frowned over the name of Wiltford, recalled a remark made by one of Lothaire’s men en route to Lexeter—that the journey would be hours shortened were his lord permitted to pass over that barony without Wiltford’s lord taking offense. And now that offended baron sent word to a man he distrusted.
Sir Angus thrust a hand toward Lothaire’s sister. “My lady,” he said with censure as if she overstepped in reading the baron’s correspondence.
Lady Sebille slapped the parchment in his palm. “As you are too scrupulous to read it ahead of my brother, I shall tell its tidings so you may make all haste to deliver it. Baron Marshal writes that—”
“Worry not,” Lothaire’s man spoke over her, “I will be of good speed.” He slid the missive in a pouch on his belt, looked to Laura. “You will accompany me?”
“She will not.” Lady Sebille again. “Lady Laura’s place is here, readying the donjon to receive Baron Marshal and his wife whilst I prepare Lady Raisa.”
The knight caught his breath. “He is found?”
As Laura bit her tongue to keep from asking who was found, Lady Sebille said in a choked voice, “At last, they return him to us.”
Sir Angus reached as if to touch her arm but drew back. He looked to Laura. “As my lord will likely ride to High Castle immediately, yours would be a wasted journey, my lady.”
At Laura’s hesitation, Lady Sebille said, “Better you direct the servants in making the hall presentable should your betrothed’s enemy enter here.”
“Baron Marshal is your brother’s enemy?” Laura said. “For what? And who does he return to you?”
“My lady,” the knight began, “methinks it best—”
“Go, Sir Angus!” Lady Sebille said. “The Baron of Lexeter will not thank you for dawdling.”
Nostrils flaring, he turned on his heel. As he strode across the hall, Laura caught sight of the physician whose presence often surprised, and not for the first time she wondered if his stealth was purposeful. Had Lady Raisa tasked him with being her eyes and ears to report on Lothaire’s betrothed?
“Lady Laura?”
She returned Lady Sebille to focus. “You will explain about Baron Marshal?”
“’Tis not for me to do.”
“Nor was it for you to tell me of your brother’s first wife,” Laura said. “Just as it is not for me to direct the servants until I am their mistress through marriage to their lord.”
Lothaire’s sister looked ready to refuse, but her eye was caught by the approaching physician, and she called, “I believe the Lady of Lexeter is in need of her medicinals, Martin,” then she motioned Laura to follow. Once ensconced in an alcove distant from the eyes and ears of others, she said, “’Tis a private and cruel matter. You know our father disappeared over twenty years past?”
“I know. Lothaire told he was but six.”
“I was nine.” The lady drew a shaky breath. “With the passage of time, we came to accept his life was forfeited. Now we know it as fact—that he was slain by the Baron of Wiltford.”
Laura gasped. “He who comes to High Castle?”
“Nay, that baron is long dead, his title recently passed to Durand Marshal through marriage to the murderer's cousin, Lady Beata.” Lady Sebille swept up her prayer beads, began to pick her fingers over them. “On the morrow, Baron Marshal and his wife shall return our father’s remains so he may be buried in consecrated ground.”
“For this they are Lothaire’s enemy?”
“That is some of it. The rest, methinks, is that ere my brother tried to return Lexeter to prosperity through marriage to you, he sought to do so by wedding Lady Beata against the queen’s—and the lady’s—wishes. Hence, you who were to be his first wife will not be his second but his third.”
Laura was grateful for the shadows upon her face. Not only had she been unaware of Lothaire’s second marriage, but his sister made it sound as if he had forced Lady Beata to speak vows. It did not seem possible, and yet…
She recalled her audience with Eleanor who insisted Lothaire remain among Laura’s suitors. She had said it would allow him to right another of his wrongs. This the other wrong?
“You are saying Lothaire forced Lady Beata to wed?”
Lady Sebille snorted. “She had incentive enough.”
“But—”
“He was angered and had cause to be.” She harrumphed. “Of course, since the marriage was quickly annulled so our queen could wed Lady Beata to her favorite, Durand Marshal, ’tis worth mentioning so you understand how uncomfortable the morrow will be. Not only are our father’s bones to be returned, but Lothaire will face Lady Beata and her husband. Thus, I would not have shame over the state of the hall make it more difficult for him.”
Laura glanced across her shoulder at the room.
“You are thinking ’twas not made ready for you, his betrothed,” Lady Sebille submitted.
“I am not.”
“I would have you know that as much as possible it was prepared in accordance with my brother’s instructions sent ahead of your arrival. Unfortunately, I was occupied with Lady Raisa. Though Sir Angus knows well how to direct men in defense of his lord, he is fairly useless in ordering servants—believes a room is presentable if no bones are visible among the rushes.” She raised her eyebrows. “Lady Maude taught you the duties of the lady of a castle?”
Laura hesitated. She had been trained in keeping a household, but little practice had she before her life toppled and none since. Just as Maude had undertaken the task of mothering Clarice, she and her stepson’s wife had ensured the donjon was comfortable and the business of feeding the castle folk economical, efficient, and palatable.
Lady Sebille gave a grunt of disapproval when the big dog, Tomas, drew alongside and pushed him away. “Your silence bodes ill, Lady Laura.”
“As you must know, I have had little experience, but Lady Maude did instruct me.”
“Then see to it.” The lady released her prayer beads and stepped from the alcove.
“Lady Sebille!”